


Lonely For You Only

by bloominglungs



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Bad Luck, F/M, Friday the 13th - Freeform, Min Yoongi | Suga Is Whipped, Smut, Stars, bangtan - Freeform, bts - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominglungs/pseuds/bloominglungs
Summary: Sometimes stars just don't align. And that's perfectly okay.





	Lonely For You Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolate_boombox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolate_boombox/gifts).



Come to think of it, that last minute decision to wear those high heels instead of your usual comfortable ballet flats was not a very bright idea, but the mistake had been made and there was no turning back. Despite the screams trapped in your feet and in your soul, your outer self smiled, your eyes a bit too wide like a concerned puppet sitting on a ventriloquist’s lap. A half-arsed was the best you could do, given the circumstances.

Truth is, you had the absolute worst day in the history of very bad days (a long history, at that) and the day wasn’t even over yet! As you headed out to your car, you felt a single droplet fall on your cheek and you just knew that shit was going hit the fan, except shit was rain and the fan was you, in your best dress that you almost sold a kidney to buy, your only pair of decent non-flat shoes (that almost cost your other kidney) and your makeup perfectly done, cat eyeliner, red lip and all, none of it waterproof. And the best part? Your car had disappeared without a trace. Well, the trace would sure be sent to you within two to five working days. You could have sworn you had until seven and it was only six fourty- fuck. Taking a long hard look at your wristwatch (if you had a third kidney, it would have cost that), you realised it was past nine. Nine o’clock! You pondered showing up almost two hours too late, soaked from head to toe, makeup running down your face, but you didn’t even have a car so how were you supposed to get there?

It wasn’t even that big of an event, you tried to reason with yourself. You could just say you felt queasy at the last minute and decided it was best to rest for the night. If they found out you had gotten your 1994 Ford Fiesta towed, what kind of image would that send? You were supposed to be a rich businesswoman interested in buying art in auctions and going to the opera, not a college dropout working at Pret-à-Manger and eating £0,69 chicken noodles before a big gala.

The stars weren’t aligning for you that day, that was certain. But when was the last time they did, if they ever did at all? Your entire life had been a constant succession of eclipses, new moons and starless night skies and it would never get any better. Hoping for anything brighter would be a waste of a wish.

Deep down, you were actually kind of glad you didn’t go. Those galas were nothing but a vanity fair full of rich white people who talked as if they owned the entire goddamn planet (which they probably did). The bachelors that attended those events were all so shallow and annoying, all they could talk about was their skiing trips to Switzerland, their luxury resorts in Thailand and their stupid horses. Nobody ever talked about dreams, space, the ocean…!

Pretending to be a ginormous pretentious cunt with many posh interests for the sake of digging gold turned out to be much more exhausting than getting on a night bus to Trafalgar Square at four in the morning just to spend the following eight hours making organic whole wheat bread sandwiches with free range eggs and quinoa salads.

With a loud heavy sigh, you turned around and walked back to the front door of your shitty building, only to realise you had managed the exquisite accomplishment of locking yourself out of your own house. I can’t believe I left the keys inside again… It happened quite often but luckily, your roommate was always home to open the door for you. Except that night, because fuck everything. She was also not picking up her phone (you sure were glad at least your phone had its battery full) and you suspected she had gone out with that guy who sometimes showed up shirtless in your kitchen at ungodly hours to drink milk directly from the carton while he stood in front of the open fridge.

Who could you possibly call in such an emergency, you pondered. Co-workers lived too far and you didn’t really have much of a relationship with them anyway. You didn’t exactly have a lot of friends thanks to your double life and your overall not-so-pleasant personality, according to everyone around you.

Other than your romanian roommate, you only ever hung out with this Korean guy named Yoongi you had met at the tube station and you two had bonded over your shared hatred for TfL and those wankers who pulled a strike out of their arses every two weeks. But you two weren’t even super close, he would just occasionally text you stupid memes when you needed a laugh or show up with pizza for a marathon or whatever dumb show was on Netflix’s home page. Besides, he was probably getting smashed by the Waterstones in Trafalgar Square, his usual spot. Well, his usual spot was on the stairs leading to the National Portrait Gallery but, with that rain, he would seek shelter by the bookstore. He had invited you to go out with him a few times, apparently he knew a place that was supposed to be sort of okay and the entry price was only five quid anyway.

But you were desperate, you truly were. Calling 999 over getting locked out of your own house was the epitome of despair and they probably had lots of drunken lads to tend to on a Friday night. Friday the 13th, actually, which would be a good explanation for how shitty your day had been. Weird shit happens to the planets on Friday the 13th.

But would it hurt to call him? All things considered, the worst that could happen was getting invited to that shithole yet again and being forced to accept because you honestly had nowhere else to go and that sleazy club was a lot more tempting than those cold stairs by your front door.

“Oh hi Angie!”

His greeting sounded oddly cheerful, which was unusual of the gloomy boy whose only colourful piece of clothing were those turquoise underpants you had caught a glimpse of at some point. He was probably drunk, or high, or both.

“Yoongi, I need you!”

And you immediately regretted your word choice, as well as the unintentional half moan that escaped your lips. It was an annoyed moan, but he couldn’t see your state of distress and you did sound awfully needy.

“Damn, princess, where are you?”

Princess… Princess? You mentally lectured yourself about blushing at the way he called you princess, of all the pet names he could have chosen, including his usual insulting nicknames he had reserved just for you, like Ugly or Buttface.

“I’m home,” you began, looking around you. Well, it was home, just the outside of it. “well, I’m locked outside of my home…”

You heard Yoongi chuckle on the other side of the line and you made a note to slap him across the face the next time you saw him for laughing at your misery.

“I’m afraid I can’t pick locks,” he joked and you were beginning to lose hope.

“Oh.”

“But you could get on a bus to Collier’s Wood and come chill at my place until you figure your shit out,” he casually offered, his voice did sound drunk but not too much. He always had a beer or two on a gloomy evening.

So you had two options: sit on those stairs in the cold for perhaps hours until your roommate came back, with nothing to eat or drink and freezing your tits off or go to Yoongi’s place, which probably had central heating or, at the very least, a radiator. And food, you guessed he had food too. None of those options sounded ideal, sure, but could Yoongi’s flat be that bad? And he was home, so he was probably not planning to go out anyway. He had been to your place a few times but you had never been to his and uncharted male territory was never where you wanted to be. Still, he was your friend and he was offering his floor for you to sleep in so it couldn’t possibly hurt that much. It sure was better than staying out under the weather.

“Hurry up, I’ll get you at the tube station in half hour,” and with that, he ended the call, leaving you with parted lips, as if you were about to say something but were rudely cut off, your phone still resting against your ear as if it was glued to your skin.

Fine. I’ll go.

And as luck would have it, your next bus was in three minutes and after that, you’d have to wait another half hour so you decided to make a run for it. The bus stop was close by but you didn’t think three minutes was enough to reach it unless you ran. In high heels. In the rain. Fuck it, I can do this!

You were no Usain Bolt but the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend the night sat outside was enough motivation to get you to run for your life; you could hear a distant voice yelling Run, Angie, run! And you did make it just in time, you saw the bus approaching and extended your hand at it, waving your Oyster card to make sure the bus would really stop for you.

Of course, your small celebratory dance was short lived because as soon as you stepped foot inside that bus, you felt one your feet collapsing and you realised your heel had broken.

Wow, just what I needed…

You would have said What’s next, universe? except you didn’t want the universe to take that challenge seriously -and it would- so you just sat down by the window and looked outside at the rain pouring over the world like you were in a melancholic music video for Golden by Fall Out Boy.

You finally arrived at your destination and, as promised, Yoongi was right there, waiting for you, as he had always been. You recognised his tiny frame in a black raincoat with a cigarette between his lips. He was truly a sight to see, you scoffed to yourself as you approached him, broken shoe in hand, mascara tears running down your face. You’re one to talk, you thought.

“Looking good,” he teased before taking one last breath of his Marlboro light and tossing the butt on the pavement.

“Gross,” you muttered at his action.

“Say what now?”

“I said I’m cold,” you lied. Well, not really a lie because you were indeed about to become an iceberg.

“It’s a five minute walk, you’ll be fine,” he disdained with a smirk on his boyish face. Sometimes you really wanted to punch him.

“Welcome to mi casa,” he cheerfully announced upon opening the door to his tiny studio flat which was about the size of an average living room, and contained no more than a small fridge, a counter with a sink and a small stove, a folded table neatly stored in the corner and a futon. And that was it, Yoongi’s world in a literal (well, figurative) nutshell. The first thought that crossed your mind as where the hell am I going to sleep?

“It’s a nice casa,” you noted, removing your other shoe and placing them both next to all the other shoes by the door as he handed you a pair of what looked like airplane slippers with the Korean Air logo printed on them.

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself so you just stood there, arms wrapped around your cold and very wet torso, shaking and rubbing your hands along your figure in hopes that friction would provide some warmth.

“You could use a shower, I guess,” Yoongi’s keen observation came wrapped in a towel as the sweet scent of vanilla invaded your senses. “I’m pretty sure I have some of my brother’s trousers around here, he’s bigger than me…”

“Excuse me, are you saying I’m fat?”

“Not at all, princess, you’re pleasantly curvaceous,” he retorted, a hand scratching at the back of his neck as his cheeks slowly turned rosy. “Just go take a shower!”

The sudden realisation that you were naked in Yoongi’s house and didn’t have clean underwear hit you like the hot shower water hit you in the face. Well shit, you muttered, noting that you also only had a towel in which to wrap your entire body after that shower. You were supposed to come out butt naked, wrapped in a towel made for Yoongi’s small body, which would never in this lifetime cover anything below your buttcheeks and he kept calling you princess like he knew it made your heart melt.

“Yoongi, please look away,” you requested, poking your head out to see what he was doing. He was apparently cooking something and it smelled delicious.

“There’s clothes on the bed.”

As expected, the towel didn’t even cover your entire fat arse and all you could do was put those clothes on at the speed of light while he cooked. Task successfully completed, although the lack of underwear was bothersome.

“Your stuff will hopefully dry by tomorrow,” he pointed to your dress, bra and panties neatly spread out on the radiator. Oh lord, he touched my underwear… “Are you hungry?”

“Always,” you sighed, coming to the conclusion that, in all that commotion earlier, you had forgotten to eat anything other than a Tesco tuna sandwich, and the smell of pork belly frying prompted death noises from your stomach.

He chuckled: “yeah, I can tell.”

As if that mouth-watering pork belly with kimchi and whatever marvellous spicy sauce that was didn’t quite fill you up, Yoongi was quick to grab a tiramisu and put it in front of you.

Waitrose tiramisu. Posh.

His decision had been made: you were to sit down while he washed the dishes because you’d been through enough. He encouraged you to check your Facebook or something in his laptop while he cleaned up. You still weren’t entirely sure where you were supposed to sleep that night.

“You don’t have to satisfy my curiosity if you don’t want to but,” he started asking as he sat down next to you, heat emanating from his figure, making you want to get closer. “But what in the world happened to you tonight?”

“A series of unfortunate events,” you shrugged, not wanting to get into too much detail. That was good enough for him. “The stars just aren’t aligned for me lately.”

The silence that followed felt constricting and heavy at first. Yoongi had been to your house a few times, you had shared a sofa but never a bed. You were wearing his -well, his chubby brother’s- oversized T-shirt and basketball shorts without underwear, sat on his bed right next to him. It felt awkward, oddly intimate, that sweet scent from the vanilla candles not helping your case at all. He seemed nervous too, fidgeting with his smartphone for a bit until he decided to play a random movie on his laptop that you couldn’t bring yourself to pay attention to, not only because Yoongi was making your stomach flutter with nervousness but also because you had been up since four in the morning and tiredness was finally manifesting itself.

When he felt the weight of your head against his shoulder and noticed your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth, he knew you were gone. Gently, trying to not wake you up, he moved, his hands on your back so you’d fall softly against the futon. He decided to follow your lead and get some sleep himself because his working hours had also been unholy.

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision blurry as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your phone marked 4:44, what a perfect timing. For some silly reason, possibly sleepiness, you found yourself making a wish upon the stars hidden by the clouds as it continued to rain and then you felt it, the heavy thing on your hip, as if someone was - oh. Of course, you had gone to Yoongi’s because you locked yourself out of your own house and he was sleeping next to you, his arm around you.

He rubbed his eyes and his voice sounded awfully groggy when he asked why you were awake.

“I just need a drink,” you lied. You weren’t sure why you lied, you had naturally woken up and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Feel free to raid my fridge,” he said while yawning and cuddling himself into the blanket. Cute…

You returned to bed after a glass of apple juice and something just took over you, maybe you were merely dreaming or it was just the drowsiness talking but you reached for Yoongi’s hand and wrapped his arms around your waist, like before. You heard him chuckle lightly and felt his breath against the soft skin of your neck.

“Are you cold,” he murmured against your skin.

You hummed in response, wanting nothing more than to turn around to face him but consciousness was slowly returning to you and felt your face heat up.

Yoongi had been the only constant in your life in that city for four years. Everyone you had ever met there had moved somewhere else, gotten married, had children or simply stopped reaching out to you but Yoongi had always been there. You never thought much of him, he was a cool guy you sometimes hung out with but you had never even noticed what he looked like but, in that moment, you thought he was the most beautiful man in the world. It could just be the loneliness getting the best of you, or the full moon, or the planets aligning in weird ways… but the truth was, you really wanted to kiss him.

“I’ll warm you up,” and his sultry muzzy voice sent shivers down your spine, along with his lips on your neck.

“Y-yoongi.”

You couldn’t think straight, not when it was five in the morning, your friend was starting to arouse you and you were sure this would be a terrible mistake. But when he hovered over your body, his arms caging you so you couldn’t escape, (even if you wanted to, which you didn’t) it felt as if those crazy planets were perfectly aligned and that moment had somehow been in the making for years, like the universe had it all planned.

The stars in your chest burst into supernovas when his lips met yours and you shut that voice down, that voice in your head telling you that you were just falling victim to your own loneliness and nothing good could come out of it. Fuck you, voice…!

His mouth drew patterns down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones and you could combust into flames every time his crotch pressed against yours. You could still turn back but who the hell would aim for the moon and turn back halfway through? This was a mission you wanted to see to an end, even if the end was heartache. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. The universe could explode again, thus creating a completely new universe without you in it, but at least you’d be gone with a bang, not with a whimper.

And with a bang you did, when he pulled your shorts down, the t-shirt bundled up around your neck and his mouth finding one of your breasts, his lips closing in on one the nipple as his left hand came to softly knead on your other breast, so it wouldn’t feel alone. That T-shirt would eventually find its way to the floor near you, as did his own clothes. And his mouth found its way down your torso, along your sternum down to your belly button and down to where the heat pooled. His long fingers grazing ever so lightly along your sides, causing you to shiver and moan, your moans feeding his need to taste you more and more.

And he would tell you that you tasted like Venus breath, that every curve in your body was as majestic as Saturn with its glorious rings, that your soft voice pleading for more sounded like an asteroid colliding with his world, ending him with a bang as loud as your own. But Earth was still spinning out of orbit and it would spin even faster as soon as he entered you with a low grunt, your legs snaking around his waist, eyes closed, no space left between the two of you.

His lips never left yours as his hips gained traction, faster and harder every time as you begged for more and he gave it to you, everything you needed. Ask and you shall receive. He would have given you an entire planetary system had you asked for it.

The whole galaxy shaking to its core when you came together, as you should, as it was meant to be. Planets aligned, stars aligned, constellations aligned, the entire fucking universe aligned for you, a miracle conception taking place right there with you and him as the protagonists.

Somewhere in the world it was still Friday the 13th and it was your lucky day, even if it only lasted for a few minutes, your head was as high as the morning sky, clothes scattered everywhere, his seed in its rightful place, deep inside of you, as it should be. It was written in the stars, was it not?

The sun didn’t shine but its light engulfed the room and you realised you were alone.

“Morning,” you heard Yoongi’s voice as he entered his flat with a paper bag in his hand. “I got some flapjacks for breakfast!”

You looked around. The T-shirt and shorts were still on your body and there was no sign of clothes on the floor, no sign of the universe exploding just a few hours before.

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

The rest of the day went by in a daze, the rain never ceased and Yoongi seemed to enjoy your company. You played video games together all day and the world seemed to have gone back to its usual slow spinning, like nothing ever happened. Maybe it didn’t…

You wanted to ask him if it happened at all or if you had been caught up in a weirdly amusing dream, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. The truth would probably make everything worse, would it not? So maybe the planets had always been jumbled and the stars never wrote anything but at least that dream would still be yours.

The shoes you had borrowed from Yoongi were a bit too big for your feet but it was still better than broken heels. Surprisingly, the rain completely stopped in the evening and the stars were shining, not a single cloud in the London sky. You thought it was odd but the picturesque and uncommon sight of a beautiful night sky in that city was so rare that you couldn’t help but sit down on the ground and look up at the white dots gracing the sky.

The events - or dreams - of the previous night kept replaying in your head, like an old black and white movie with a heartwarming soundtrack. Just the thought of having been loved, even if only in a dream, made your heart soar up to the sky where it danced with the planets and the stars.

Your phone beeped, distracting you from your thoughts. It was a message from Yoongi, you figured you had forgotten something at his place.

The sky looks beautiful tonight, you read to yourself. Almost as beautiful as you looked beneath me last night.

You couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear, your back falling back against the wet grass but you didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t a dream. What if it was just the loneliness talking? At least you could be lonely together, lonely for one another. Maybe one world was ending so a better one could begin.

I hope we can explode together again, end this world with a bang, not a whimper.


End file.
